I may be a sinner
But not in that mind
You're barely too sonorous
To shy from your fears
As you sigh to your knees
Depleted of chains
So I'm told you can't see
Insufficiently crowned,
You child of brothels
To the foreigner's slight
Manufactured sincere
In the dowel's injection
But they're almost prosaic
Just a bit automatic
Ostentatiously knighted
An immaculate nod
We've scant enough things
Supposed to be surplus
That commander of sorts
Must have gotten too pretty
And omitted the ring
Thus we're left to the scriptures
So how does it feel
His liquid sakura
'Til death be the midpoint
Disproportionate martyr
Of my laminated flight